


Sometimes

by TheAwkwardPinCushion



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, brief sex mention, very brief not detailed at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 20:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5263289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAwkwardPinCushion/pseuds/TheAwkwardPinCushion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i'm high and i got sad about these two. go figure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes

Sometimes Isabela comes to him when she's drunk, happily and sloppily kissing anywhere she can reach until he can get her off him long enough to get her in her own bed ( _away from his, for the Maker's sake),_ and get her asleep until he can hydrate her through the next morning's hangover. When that happens, Fenris tries not to touch her too much. Maker knows she takes a sideways glance as a proposition.

Sometimes she comes to him when she's not drunk, but not sober either. Her hair and skin and especially her fingers smell like a plant he knew that people in Rivain smoked. Sometimes the smoke will bring back bad memories. Sometimes she'll bring some to share with him.

The smoke burns his throat, the feeling foreign and wrong at first. Eventually feeling becomes more natural and Fenris looks at the captain, through the twisting clouds of smoke, and relishes the look on her face. The fire and danger she pulls into her lungs calms her. He calms her, too (but she'd never tell him that).

Sometimes, she won't smell like anything but dirt and blood and he wraps her scraped arms and legs in cheap bandages, probably telling her that she should have seen the mage. She laughs and says that she likes his eyes better.

He goes to her after a particular bloody outing and she helps him get the gore out of his hair and off his skin. The water burns him when it hits but she presses her body to his to keep him safe. He can feel the texture of all her scars then.

Sometimes they come to each other, their lips crash together like waves during a storm and either his mansion or her tavern room (whichever was closer) fills with the sounds of desperation and sadness, of skin hitting skin and tired grunts.

After they all separate, she offers to give him a ride to wherever he's going. She has a ship now, and her hair goes past where it did when they first met. There's barely-there lines on her forehead and parentheses framing her smile. He wonders if he's changed too.

They sail. The wind occasionally pushes her hair away from her back, away from where it can hide the faded and (probably purposely-hidden) scars there. At night he traces them until she flinches. He'd never seen her flinch before. She didn't want to talk about it. He doesn't push.

Storms bring them together. When she's barking orders at her crew, he's not quite following, not quite disobeying. He doesn't like orders, but he'll take hers into consideration during the storms. They scare her.

And then he's hurt, and she's at his bedside before she thinks he wakes up. In all reality, he fades in and out of consciousness. He sees her sleep in the chair in the corner sometimes. Sometimes she prays (but when he asks about it later, she denies it).

One night, it'd been too long since she'd felt his hands and she timidly intertwines her fingers in his. They feel wrong, not quite lifeless but not wholly alive either. And she says it. The words burn the tip of her tongue but she can't stop.

“You can't die, you bastard. I love you too much for you to die. I need you.”

He wakes up that night, looking at her while she rests her forehead on his bedside.

“I love you too.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is prolly shit but i wrote what came to mind and that was this ta-da


End file.
